


Story of Another Us

by inkandwords



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Blow Jobs, Demiromantic, Demisexuality, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Getting Together, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, This got away from me, demi!Yuri, happy bday lin!, yuri takes to the net for advice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 12:00:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9180589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandwords/pseuds/inkandwords
Summary: An unexpected step further into his relationship with Otabek has Yuri questioning how far he’s willing to go for something that will change everything.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dawnstruck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnstruck/gifts).



> I told Lin there was supposed to be more porn in this, but instead that portion turned into feelings and fluff because my brain decided to turn rogue. I hope the rest of the filth makes up for it. ♥ haha 
> 
> Title comes from [**Story of Another Us**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5MQ8Vz7eHDI) by 5 Seconds of Summer and is also what I wrote the majority of the fic with. Also inspired by [**this post**](http://limitlessmonster.tumblr.com/post/145389578396/confused-college-bro-asks-internet-for-advice) I found floating around on Tumblr. 
> 
> Happy reading! ♥
> 
> p.s. I love OtaYuri. Please send help.

**Received From: beka**  
[text]: take a picture and send it to me

 **Sent To: beka**  
[text]: i’m literally going to c u in a few hours  
[text]: i hate having to fly out for sponsorship stuff  
[text]: i’m so fkn tired beks  
[text]: *beka  
[text]: fuck autocorrect idk why it does that

 **Received From: beka**  
[text]: at least you’ll be home soon and you can get some rest then  
[text]: or sleep on the plane  
[text]: I was in traffic. just got to the hotel  
[text]: and I meant take a picture of where you are

 **Sent To: beka**  
[text]: y?

 **Received From: beka**  
[text]: visual reference  
[text]: you don’t even have to include your face  
[text]: but that would be a nice bonus

He doesn't recall when Otabek had begun asking for the pictures, but somehow it always seems to relate to a time Yuri is feeling not quite himself. Stressed or exhausted or off in general, Yuri's mood picks up just a little with the needed distraction and it's become a ritual of sorts. A routine request Yuri only questions for the sake of questioning and not because he really needs to know why Otabek asks for random pictures of him wherever he is.

Yuri angles the phone just enough to get his face in the shot, makes certain he's also captured a good view of the window overlooking the wing of the plane. His hair is mussed because of the knit cap he's wearing, but it's the one Otabek had said looks nice on him. Something about the color matching his eyes. Yuri had blown off the compliment then, but he wears the cap more often anyway. Just because. 

 **Sent To: beka**  
[text]: ok fine but it’s boring af  
[text]: xydkc.img  
[text]: there u happy now?  
[text]: flight’s takin off  
[text]: c u in a few hours

As the plane moves across the tarmac, its subtle vibrations making Yuri flinch, he stuffs the phone into his jacket pocket and unwinds the earphones attached to it. He readjusts the strap of his seat belt, scowling at the guy humming something upbeat next to him. It's times like these that he thinks he should have flown Business Class, should have splurged a little if only to get a few extra comforts every once in a while. But if his wanting childhood has taught him anything, extravagance isn't one of them. The obnoxious passenger beside him takes the humming up a notch and Yuri grumbles regrets about his frugal decision.

 _God, I hate flying_ , he thinks, sticking the earbuds in place and blasting the music to drown everything else out. _But at least I’ll get to see Beka soon._

 

*****

 

He arrives in Moscow with a few new messages. One from Viktor about not being able to make it back from Hasetsu for another two weeks, likely because of the wedding plans now finally in motion. One from Yakov reminding him that he only has two weeks of downtime left before training starts again like he isn't already geared up to begin planning for next year's programs. There are three from Otabek, comments about his impromptu selfie and the knit cap that does not go unnoticed. He bites his bottom lip, a quiet scoff escaping before he shoots a few off to Otabek, the others left unanswered.

 

 **Sent To: beka**  
[text]: just landed  
[text]: gonna take a nap when i get home  
[text]: n stfu i’m not cute

 **Received From: beka**  
[text]: beautiful then. does that work?

 **Sent To: beka**  
[text]: it’s the sleep mask  
[text]: told you it’d be worth the buy

 **Received From: beka**  
[text]: oblivious as always lol  
[text]: sleep well yura

 **Sent To: beka**  
[text]: i cant believe u just lol’d me

 

The cab ride back to his place is uneventful. While he likes visiting other places, even if his fan base makes it difficult at times to properly enjoy the various destinations, there is something about home that makes him glad for it. Makes him miss it when he's away. By the time Yuri makes it up to his apartment, the lack of sleep from the trip home finally catches up with him and he falls right into bed, shoes on and phone still clutched in his hand.

 

*****

 

A few hours later, Yuri wakes to a familiar tune, one he’d know anywhere - though not by choice. An image of JJ doing his ridiculous JJ-style theatrics invades his head like some nightmare he can’t escape. He groans and curls the pillow over his head before he launches it across the room to the lone figure curled up on his beat up old couch.

“You’re up,” Otabek says by way of greeting, managing to deflect the pillow just in time to miss something on the television screen that results in a tired sigh. “I was trying not to wake you.”

Yuri debates pretending that he hasn't woken. It isn't that he's not glad to see Otabek. On the contrary, the only thing that trumps his excitement is the groggy irritation at having his sleep interrupted. He burrows deeper under his blanket, exhale sharp. He would have followed through had it not been for the audible grumble his stomach makes, reminding him it's been at least twelve hours since he last had something to eat.

“Bullshit.” Well, so much for pretending to be asleep. “I told you any commercial with that idiot Canadian is banned from my place. How’d you get in anyway? I could’ve been naked or something.”

“But you weren’t. You gave me a key, remember? It’s just the first time I’ve ever had to use it,” Otabek says without taking his eyes off the television. “Besides, it’s not like I’ve never seen you naked.”

“That was _one_ time and it’s not my fault the pig forgot to lay out more towels. I swear, I’m never going back to their fucking place ever again. It’s been five years; they should just elope already so they wouldn’t have to pay an obscene amount of money to gross us all out in formal wear.”

Otabek shakes his head. “Says the one who agreed to go back to Hasetsu to help Yuuri with the wedding plans.”

Yuri launches another pillow to the tune of Otabek’s quiet laughter, effectively hitting his target square in the face and making Otabek's hair stick out every which way. Yuri laughs despite himself, bites back the sound while he attempts to pull himself out of his sleep-deprived stupor.

“What was that for?”

“Whoops,” Yuri says without remorse, petulantly eyeing Otabek’s deadpanned expression. ”My hand slipped.”

“If the pillow had killed me, you’d be in jail instead of helping with the wedding.”

“Win-win,” Yuri retorts, “a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“And here I was being nice and keeping you company while you shattered the sound barrier with your foghorn snoring.”

“What?!” Yuri glares, watches the way Otabek’s mouth twitches with hinted amusement. “I don’t fucking snore.”

“Right. Must have been some other foghorn,” Otabek says, eyes flickering toward Yuri before his hands come up to shield his face just as Yuri threatens to get rid of his last remaining pillow.

He should have known better than to underestimate Otabek's reflexes. Otabek beats him to it, has Yuri grumpy and ready to fight when the pillow he'd launched earlier hits him dead center. When he grabs the offending item off his face, he finds Otabek hinting a smile;a little cheeky and definitely full of teasing, even if his facial expressions never shift more than a fraction, never show things in abundance the way Yuri's does. He eyes the subtle look Otabek now wears and suddenly, he’s not as angry as before. Not that he could ever be angry with Otabek, really.

“You owe me dinner for that,” Yuri grumbles. He fixes his hair up in a loose bun in the same instance Otabek rises, sunglasses and motorcycle helmet in hand. Yuri backtracks. “Okay, okay, geez! You don’t have to go! We’ll go dutch.”

“So that wasn’t you trying to strong-arm me into a date?” Otabek asks.

Yuri scoffs. “Don’t be a shit. You know I wouldn’t have to do much strong-arming.”

He shuffles off the bed and pads toward the bathroom, rubbing sleep from his eyes. While getting ready, it hits him, belatedly, that Otabek hadn’t denied it.

 

*****

 

The restaurant they end up in is fairly crowded for the middle of the week. People stare in their direction; some subtle, others not so much. Yuri should be used to it by now, but even after so long, it still unnerves him. Makes him paranoid that everything he says, everything he does is being scrutinized. Under a microscope for all the world to see, the crazies to pick apart, to use as some kind of intimate gateway into his life. It used to make him angrier, when being a hormonal teenager was still a legitimate excuse for the rage he projected, the insults he threw around as though it were a permanent part of his vocabulary. But now, the yelling and raging has calmed some, made room for the jaded, wary cynicism that comes with spending his formative years in the spotlight.

The staff is accustomed to having Yuri there, knows to sit him in the back where he won’t be bothered. Still, it doesn’t stop those who recognize him from sometimes attempting to interrupt him while eating.

“At your seven o’clock,” Otabek mumbles, pretending to be raptly attentive to the small menu in front of him. “They look particularly eager.”

Yuri sucks in a breath and holds it, cheeks puffing out. He turns his face just enough that his cheek is visible from the angle Otabek mentions. A part of him knows better, reprimands himself for being petty even though he feels the impulse is justified, but the other part.... well.

Once Otabek confirms they definitely intend to approach, Yuri not so subtly scratches his cheek.

“You’re terrible,” Otabek says reproachfully, though Yuri doesn’t miss the hint of a smile. It has long since passed that Yuri's actions are surprising to anyone, least of all Otabek himself. “Was the middle finger scratch really necessary?”

Sparing a glance over his shoulder, Yuri shrugs before he relaxes in his seat. “Worked, didn’t it?”

“That will probably be on Instagram tonight.”

Yuri slings an arm over the top of the booth with a cheeky grin. “I have ‘til tomorrow to figure out an excuse. Or not. Anyway, I don’t know why you look so surprised.”

“Surprised? No. Mildly amused? Maybe a little.” Otabek reaches across and tucks the loose strand back behind Yuri’s ear. “Some things never change.”

“Like your hair?” Yuri shoots back, snickering.

“Speaking of hair, what’s going on with yours?”

Yuri lifts an eyebrow; Otabek’s unchanging expression makes him all the more difficult to read and Yuri can’t decide if Otabek is trying to give him a compliment or insult him. “What about it?” he asks, absently tapping his bottom lip as he goes over the menu.

He catches Otabek staring when he glances up. It's an intense sort of stare, one that he notes Otabek only wears when he's fully immersed, focus completely on Yuri as though he were the only person in the room. It's flattering in the same breath that it makes Yuri somewhat self-conscious. He makes a face to counter the feeling, like acting like a child would somehow push it away, make it easier to deal with. 

“The undercut is a nice touch. I wonder who got you into the look.”

“Gee, I wonder,” Yuri says, a little sarcastic, though not without affection.

“Is he Canadian?”

“I have a butter knife, Beka. Don’t fuck with me.”

Otabek chuckles, gives him a thumbs up. “It’s flattering. I’m glad you kept the length. Suits you.”

“You’re seriously the only one who can get away with saying that shit to me,” Yuri says, ears warm as he sips his water.

“What? The truth?” Otabek shrugs. “I always say what I mean. It’s not my fault you’re beautiful.”

“Nice try. We’re still going dutch.”

“Damn,” Otabek says, mocking a snap of his fingers, “can’t blame a guy for trying.”

 

*****

 

After dinner, Otabek stays over to watch a movie. It’s one of their favorites, an older Disney classics that features more animals than people. They’re easier to relate to than people, Yuri once said. Otabek had agreed before he likened Yuri to a cat - careful to trust, fiercely independent, but needing to be understood and cared for all the same. Yuri remembers he took it as a compliment even before Otabek clarified what he meant. He also remembers Otabek hugging him for it. It’s one of his favorite memories.

Before long, they’re sprawled out on opposite ends of the couch, legs tangled together, and mostly asleep. It isn’t until Yuri wakes an hour after the movie ends that he realizes the time. He scrambles off the couch, hissing out a swearing fit when he stubs his foot on the coffee table, and grabs a spare blanket from the hall closet. He pins the offending table with a petulant glare on his way back and throws the blanket over Otabek, carefully maneuvering back to his bed and flinging himself on top. He passes out even before he remembers hitting the pillow.

* * *

 

As the days wear on, Yuri finds having Otabek around on a regular basis is something he's taken a liking to. It is rare that he enjoys anyone's company for any length of time, but it's different with Otabek. Yuri has tried to rationalize it many times before, usually when someone from the press brings up their friendship as though it were something out of place for Yuri to be friends with anyone he calls a rival. While it's true for most cases, Otabek has never been considered a part of the norm. By the time the first week ends and bleeds into the one following, the passing time makes Yuri realize that New Year’s is right around the corner. He would have to return to his regularly scheduled program; one that doesn’t include Otabek. The thought hits a strange note, a gray cloud of sorts. Yuri chalks it up to the thought of missing company he enjoys, tells himself he would have reacted this way with anyone else and not just because it was Otabek. 

“How long are you staying in St. Petersburg again?” Yuri asks, groaning in approval when Otabek eases out the ache in his ankle. It would likely swell and push his training back a few days, but as Otabek diligently puts his magic to work, Yuri shoves the worry aside. “I could get used to having a personal masseuse.”

“You should be rubbing my feet, not the other way around,” Otabek argues, though he continues tending to the swollen area Yuri had twisted earlier in the day. “I carried you the three blocks back to your place, remember?”

“You made it back alive; stop complaining like a wuss,” Yuri says, tossing a few popcorn kernels Otabek’s way. “It was on piggyback. Besides, carrying me isn’t that bad. Pretend it’s weight training.”

“Yeah, not so bad when you were fifteen and smaller. Even when you and I were the same size, it wasn’t terrible. But now -- now, you’re kind of a giant.” Otabek laughs. Yuri loves the sound, waits a full minute before he joins in.

“Just remember that everyone thought I’d be a little fairy forever,” Yuri says with a snort. “I heard JJ had some kind of bet going about the growth spurt they said I’d never hit. They can all suck my fucking d--”

“I never lost faith,” Otabek says, the shake of his head solemnly but comical enough that it prompts Yuri to launch a few more kernels. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Wouldn’t have mattered to me anyhow. You’re still Yura to me, no matter how tall you are or how much you fill out.”

Yuri’s appreciation for the sentiment results in a fond, “shut up and watch the movie, Beka.”

Halfway into the film, Yuri wonders why he lets Otabek pick the movies anymore. The pace is slow moving at best, a few hints here and there about any sort of relevant plot to the movie. He continues glaring at the screen, silently rips apart the main characters for their obvious stupidity and watches the scene go back and forth between each parallel timeline, wondering if Otabek would come for him like that if Yuri was pissed off enough to storm off. Wonders if he would do the same for Otabek and realizes, dumbly, that of course he would.

Because it’s Otabek. Because that’s usually enough of a reason why.

Otabek pokes Yuri’s cheek, intent on wrangling a response other than the dismissive grunt he’s received. “You look funny.”

“You’re supposed to be watching the movie,” Yuri points out, blowing his hair out of his eyes. “Not me.”

“I got distracted by all the angry muttering. Your facial expressions are more entertaining than the movie anyway.”

Yuri snorts. “Right,” he says dryly, rolling his eyes and trying to shift his focus back to the movie. Something made more difficult by the way Otabek continues staring. “Beka, movie. This was your pick this time. You’re the one who wanted to watch this garbage and you’re not even paying attention to how dumb it is.”

“Is that why you’re so engaged?” Otabek asks.

Yuri hears the teasing in his voice, knocks his knee into Otabek’s thigh in retaliation. “Is the guy gonna get any action? Or is this gonna end like _The Happening_? By the way, that crappy movie was your pick, too.”

Otabek dips his head. “Nobody’s perfect.”

“You’re pretty damn close. Too bad your taste in movies sometimes suck.”

“You know what else sucks?”

“What?”

“You’ll see in a minute.”

Yuri glances at him from his peripheral and sighs, big and heavy and much too tired to be having this conversation. He slumps to the side, leaning against Otabek’s arm for support, and waits for whatever it is he’s supposed to be watching for on screen. The next scene starts and Yuri’s eyes widen, blink in rapid succession just to make sure he’s not imagining it.

“Holy shit, you should’ve told me you were bringing porn, Beka--”

Otabek snorts. “It’s not. But the main guy pretty much goes to town on the other guy here.”

Yuri watches with rapt attention, vaguely paying attention to how Otabek’s gaze flickers between him and television. Like he’s waiting for a reaction. It would have likely distracted him before had he not been a little too interested in the unfolding tryst before him. Otabek is right, however, and the actual element is hidden by careful camera angles and strategically manipulated shadows. Still, the lack of actual dick doesn’t stop Yuri’s mind from wandering, his imagination filling in the blanks and leaving him slightly breathless and half-hard by the end of the display.

“That was, um--”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Is that why you picked the movie?”

Otabek looks mildly affronted. “I liked the idea of every decision impacting the direction of someone’s life. It makes you think about the concept in a new light when you realize the small things could change the direction of the larger ones. Maybe even influence them.”

Yuri sniffs, rolls his eyes. “You think too much.”

“Maybe I do.” Otabek traces his lip wistfully before he shrugs. Yuri isn't quite sure if the movie's influence has something to do with the way he follows the simple movement before he realizes he'd been staring at Otabek's mouth far longer than necessary. Quickly, he shifts his attention back to the movie, though it's more difficult now, just as Otabek asks, “is that so bad?”

“Do you think yours do?”

“What?”

“The small decisions affecting the big ones - do you think yours have?”

Otabek doesn’t hesitate. “Remember when I picked you up that day in Barcelona? That was a small decision.”

“And?” Yuri prompts.

“What do you think would have happened had I not decided that?”

With a shrug, Yuri sinks back against the couch and goes for the obvious. “Those screaming hags would’ve probably found me and sold my body parts or something. I heard them picking up my hair from around the corner. I mean, who even does that shit?” Then he looks to Otabek for clarification. “Is that what you meant?”

“I suppose that was an effect of it, but what I meant to point out was that we probably wouldn’t have become friends if I hadn’t done it.”

“Of course we would have!” Yuri exclaims, incredulous. Now Otabek is spouting bullshit. Yuri would have found a way to make it happen; he’s sure of it. They’ve been friends for so long that not having Otabek around is something Yuri has never considered. Somehow the prospect of it, even in hypothetical terms, jars him something fierce.“You’re my god damn person! My-- my--”

“Soulmate?”

Yuri is taken aback by the term, though nothing in Otabek’s expression changes. “Ugh, you’re so cheesy,” he says, recovering with a scoff as he shoves him aside. “But I know something would have happened; we would’ve met again eventually. Besides, you're forgetting the most important part. I made the choice to go with you.”

“Maybe,” Otabek says, seemingly pleased with Yuri’s sudden outburst. “But I like to think my initial choice had something to do with it. Best decision I’ve made so far.”

“So it wasn’t about the movie having soft core porn.” Yuri throws his head back and laughs, playfully elbows Otabek in the process. “I guess I just didn’t figure you for someone who’d watch that stuff.”

“Porn? Sure I do,” Otabek says easily, “but you were the one that looked like you were really into it. I didn’t figure you for a voyeur. Exhibitionist, definitely. But--”

“It looked interesting, okay?!” Yuri interrupts, his voice pitching a sound he hasn’t made since puberty. His hand palms his face in embarrassment. Heat rises all the way to the tips of his ears and he feels them burn, wishes he’d been more conscious of what he was doing during the movie so he doesn’t look like some newbie who’s never enjoyed an actual blowjob before. “The guy looked like he was really into it and, I don’t know, I guess I wondered what it would feet like. If it was different when a guy does it than when a girl does.” He turns and pins Otabek with a warning glare. “I swear if you make fun of me, I’m gonna suffocate you with my pillow.”

For a long second, Otabek says nothing. Yuri doesn’t know what that means, exactly. He can usually talk to Otabek about anything and everything, but he realizes now that they’ve never actually talked about certain things that have Yuri internally grumbling about how stupid the whole idea of sex is.

“It would depend, I guess, on who you were doing it with. I’m not sure it has anything to do with gender.” Otabek’s gaze is on him then, as though trying to figure something out. “How did it feel with a girl? I’m guessing that’s the only point of reference you have?”

Yuri replants his face back into the safety of his palm and nods, groaning. “It’s happened a couple of times, different girls from random clubs I’ve gone to. Just something stupid I didn’t plan and I’d been drinking each time.” He sighs, arms braced against the bends of his knees. “I thought it was supposed to feel better if I was drunk. Or at least make it not weird. But every time it happened, the whole thing goes by and I’m thinking ‘I got nothin’’. Maybe I’m just not into that?”

“Were you attracted to them? It could just have been the beer goggles,” Otabek supplies, but Yuri shakes his head.

“They were hot I guess, but I don’t know. I thought I was? I mean, I don’t sit there trying to figure that shit out when she’s got her tongue in my mouth and her hand in my pants, you know?”

“Usually I’d know if I was attracted to whomever I was having sex with. At least on some level.” With a chuckle, Otabek dips his gaze pointedly at the subtle swell noticeable beneath Yuri’s sweats. “That’s probably necessary to get the equipment functioning.”

Yuri’s eyes widen minutely before he takes one of the leopard print throw pillows and attempts to squash down the source of his current humiliation. “Could you not stare at my crotch while you’re talking about functioning equipment?!”

Otabek shrugs. “I was only saying.”

“The equipment worked fine,” Yuri says, smacking Otabek with the pillow before he puts it back where it was. “I just… it didn’t do anything for me? Like my body was reacting, but I felt nothing. Aren’t I supposed to feel something before I do stuff with people? While I’m in the middle of it?”

“Are you asking me as a hypothetical?” Otabek points to the television. “You reacted to that scene and you weren’t personally involved with either of them--”

“You know what? This conversation’s starting to go off the deep end,” Yuri says, making to get up. Maybe to get a drink of water or drown himself in the bathroom sink. Anything to get away from having to talk about why he didn’t particularly enjoy getting blown. Instead of understanding, of feeling better about whatever just happened while watching the stupid movie, he’s more confused than before. Wonders if something’s wrong with him. Wonders if Otabek now thinks so, too.

When Yuri returns from the bathroom, damp strands of hair stuck to his cheeks, he finds Otabek sitting on the floor with an opened bottle of vodka and two shot glasses, filled to the brim. Yuri lifts a brow and follows suit, dropping cross-legged across from where Otabek is leaning against the couch. He doesn’t say anything, waits for Otabek to explain why the sudden need for alcohol, but the only thing Otabek says is, “drink,” before he nudges one of the glasses toward Yuri.

“I think we’re way past my needing to drink myself into forgetting I said something dumb and embarrassing. Unless,” Yuri says, pausing to reach for the glass and watching Otabek down his own in the process, “the booze is for you.” Another pause before he throws back his own shot, grimaces at the familiar fire that warms his insides, and adds, “because I made you uncomfortable or whatever.”

“No, of course not.” Otabek pours them both another round and urges Yuri to take the second serving. “But I thought this might help.”

Yuri complies, finishes the second shot in two gulps as the burn trailing down to his belly lessens, makes it easier to stomach. The first shot always was the hardest to get through.

“Help with what then?”

Again Otabek pauses, hesitates. It's a curious thing to see Otabek unsure of anything. Blunt as he is, it never occurs to Yuri that there is anything Otabek would be afraid to say. Yuri has half a mind to forcefully get it out of him, but then Otabek speaks and Yuri's entire speech lodges in his throat:

“What if I gave you a blowjob?”

They stare at each other for a long minute. The longest minute of Yuri’s life, he concludes, including the wait for his scores during every competition. Nerve-wracking, sure. But at least the ground is still solid. Otabek must be messing with him and he goes with his initial reaction, scoffs and manages to keep from rolling his eyes at the suggestion.

“Very funny. Stop dicking around and pick another movie to put on. No pun intended. Maybe one that doesn’t spontaneously turn into porn.” Yuri scrambles to sit on the couch, pillow tucked against his stomach as he tries not to look at Otabek. It would have been much easier to remain unaffected, but his mind and body are often at odds anyway. He should not have been surprised that this instance would be any different. 

“Maybe you’re attracted to men,” Otabek ventures. There’s no judgement there, the statement thrown out like some kind of hypothesis to whatever problem Yuri is experiencing. “And since I’m not some random person you don’t know, maybe the effect will be different? Change the variables, change the outcome. I know you have to at least be curious about it.”

“I am, but--” With an irritated sigh, Yuri rakes a hand through his hair and continues, “don’t we, I don’t know, have to be attracted to each other or something?”

“You already know what I think of you. The only question left is your attraction to me.”

“What do you want me to say, Beka? We’re friends!” When Otabek doesn’t react to the outburst, Yuri rubs a vigorous hand over his face before he mumbles loud enough for Otabek to hear. “Okay, yeah… you’re attractive, all right?! You satisfied?”

“Thanks for the glowing review,” Otabek says with quiet laughter. “But yes, I’m satisfied.”

“Wouldn’t it be weird for you?” Yuri asks, biting back a scoff at the absurdity of the conversation, let alone the seriousness with which Otabek is treating it. "Why would you even do this? What's in it for you?"

“I have my reasons.” Otabek purses his lips, looks at Yuri expectantly as though he’s supposed to change their years-long relationship on the basis of an experimental whim. A few minutes of exploratory curiosity. "And it wouldn't be any weirder for me than it would be for you."

Then a thought hits him and he tentatively ventures, “do you even know how to do... that?”

“Won’t know ‘til we find out.” Something about Otabek's tone of voice, the drop in expression, catches Yuri’s attention. Briefly, he calls up his own limited experience and wonders if Otabek's behavior hinges on the same reason. But before he can call Otabek out on it, it’s gone and Otabek tugs on the drawstring of Yuri’s sweatpants in an effort to get a definitive answer. “You can say no if you want; it's just an offer. We can even skip the handshake.”

“Oh my god, you’re ridiculous.”

Yuri sighs. Already knows it’s probably a stupid idea, but he does it anyway.

He wonders if this is what people mean when they say ‘curiosity killed the cat’.

 

*****

 

Ten minutes later, after a tall glass of water, another brimming shot, and a five minute pep-talk to himself via the bathroom mirror that Yuri isn’t sure has helped at all, he finds himself back on the couch with Otabek in front of him. His sweatpants and boxers are tugged down to his ankles, exposing parts of himself Otabek hasn’t seen since the accidental full frontal in Hasetsu.

Otabek looks just as nervous as Yuri feels and the realization is a small comfort, gives him some sort of even ground despite knowing Otabek has probably done this before and Yuri doesn’t know how to feel about that.

“You’re still kind of hard,” Otabek muses. “Is that from the movie or--”

“Okay, now you’re making me self-conscious.” Yuri hides behind his hand and mutters, “it’s the stupid movie. Sorta. God damn it, if you’re just gonna stare at my dick instead of--”

“Right, sorry. You can lay your head back against the couch, if that’s easier,” Otabek offers, clearing his throat. He bites his lip, a small furrow in his brow when he reaches for Yuri’s cock. His fingers are tentative but firm, awkwardly wrapping around the shaft and Yuri wonders if Otabek has actually done this before or if he’s left the question openly vague on purpose so Yuri wouldn’t tease him about it.

The initial contact jolts him, makes Yuri gasp “shit!” into the back of his hand, embarrassment heating his face like a thousand suns.

He tenses for a second and Otabek loosens his grip to barely a touch, waiting for Yuri to give consent that it’s okay to continue. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to--” Otabek starts, slightly flustered.

Otabek is normally calm, collected and unruffled, and seeing him this way somehow makes the experience easier to relax into. Eases some of the fear that he might not be the only inexperienced one between them.

Yuri shakes his head to clear it and takes Otabek’s suggestion, gingerly leans back against the couch and closes his eyes while he forces himself to calm down. To shove the underlying weirdness aside and get through whatever this experience is supposed to be. “It’s fine. You’re fine. I just-- it was new for me, that’s all.”

“Keep going?” Otabek asks, a hint of reluctance there.

Yuri exhales. Calculated and steady. Then an idea hits him. “Wait--” he says, leaning forward and gripping the back of Otabek’s neck. He takes in Otabek’s earnest expression, sees genuine concern flicker behind his eyes, and before he can chicken out of his bright idea, he presses their lips together. Gentle, barely a kiss, but enough to rid Yuri of some of the tension making him jittery inside. “To, you know, break the ice… or whatever.”

“I think I had that covered when I grabbed you,” Otabek clarifies with a tilt of his head.

Yuri rolls his eyes and laughs, despite himself. “Shut up, Beka.”

If Otabek is surprised by the spontaneous gesture, he doesn’t show it. Doesn’t react save for the errant statement and the brief flicker of eyes in Yuri’s direction.

Yuri marvels at the fact that he’s just kissed his best friend. Even more so when it dawns on him that he liked it. That he actually felt something at the contact.

His head buzzes with the thought and he settles back again, anticipation high. It starts off slow, the touch similar to the sensations he feels when he’s jerked himself off. Except he isn’t alone and the acute awareness of someone else’s hands on him turns him on a little more than he thought it would. The realization is bewildering.

Otabek stays silent, expression focused. Determined. His movements are a little jerky, less rhythmic considering the experience Yuri imagines him having. But after a while, Yuri is so focused on what Otabek is doing, how lightheaded and slightly drunk with it he feels, that he slips up. Curls his fingers into his palms and grits out a muffled moan despite the firm press of his lips and the set of his jaw. If Otabek needs encouragement, apparently he takes Yuri’s involuntary reaction as the green light because in the next second, Yuri moans around a hitched breath as Otabek licks Yuri from base to tip before taking him into his mouth.

“ _Beka_ ,” Yuri gasps, trying to reconnect the brain synapses that have short circuited while he gets used to the heat of Otabek’s mouth, the unfamiliar sensation. “ _What the fuck..._ ”

“Good?” Otabek asks, muffled, his mouth entirely occupied with Yuri. He whimpers and momentarily chokes when Yuri’s hips buck, his dick hitting the back of Otabek’s throat by accident.

“Shit, s-sorry,” he says, breathless as he threads his fingers through the disheveled strands of Otabek’s hair. Partly to comfort, partly because he needs something to tether to, to keep himself grounded while he tries not to accidentally suffocate his best friend. “That wasn’t supposed to happ--” His breath hitches when Otabek recovers and takes the slight in stride, sucks all the way up and descends back down excruciatingly slow, tongue dragging the entire way. Probably to shut Yuri up. “God, that feels good... so, so good...”

Otabek moans around him, the vibrations sending a pleasant thrum straight to his core. It seems easier for him to find his pace, to build a rhythm Yuri matches, despite his initial hesitation. He wonders how long it’s been since they started, how much time has passed since he stopped thinking about how weird it is, how their friendship will come out of the trainwreck this will likely turn out to be. Somehow he manages, turns control over to instinct and follows his body’s reactions, begins enjoying himself instead of overthinking, too preoccupied with the warmth of Otabek’s mouth, the eagerness of his tongue to entertain much else.

Yuri groans again, feels the strain of muscle when Otabek licks across the slit and deliberately twists as he works his hand back up to Yuri’s tip. Yuri nears the brink when Otabek swallows him again. He rolls his hips, feels a slight resistance when Otabek gags but manages to follow Yuri’s motion enough to keep going. Then Otabek pulls off of him and starts pumping while he licks around the head, his eyes meeting Yuri’s half-lidded gaze. Studying him, gauging his reactions. Yuri arches. Lifts an inch off the couch and stills, frozen with a hand clamped on the edge of the couch as he comes hard enough to see stars.

By the time his breaths calm and his vision clears, Otabek is already handing over the box of tissue for the aftermath. He’s wearing an odd expression, one Yuri doesn’t know how to decipher. It leaves him uneasy. After five years, he thinks himself a fairly knowledgeable expert when it comes to Otabek and not being able to tell how he’s taking things is not a good sign.

Cleaning himself up in awkward silence, it takes Yuri another minute after to clear his throat and say something as Otabek sits there, seemingly just as unprepared for what comes next.

“Did you--”

“That was, um--”

They both laugh; a strange, tense sort of laughter that feels off, feels foreign to Yuri considering it’s Otabek’s company he’s keeping and their friendship has withstood plenty of embarrassing moments.

“You first,” Yuri offers, palming his neck and stopping short when he realizes he still has the dirty tissues wadded up into a ball in his hand. “Shit, hold on--”

He gets up and shuffles toward the bathroom, disposing of the evidence before making his way back to where Otabek waits, quieter than usual and thumb idly scratching the dark material of his jeans. Now that gesture, Yuri knows well. Something Otabek does when he’s uncomfortable. He stops as soon as he spots Yuri emerge from the bathroom.

“Was that what you thought it would be?” There’s something off with Otabek’s tone of voice, his expression, something that jogs Yuri and makes him question, but then his face relaxes and Otabek is back to how he usually is.

It puts Yuri on edge and in his confusion, he sinks into the empty space beside Otabek and stares at him like he’s just lost his damn mind. “Yeah, it was fine. I’m--” he starts, pauses when he realizes he didn’t know what to expect. He bends forward to grab the vodka bottle and takes a healthy gulp of the as he turns toward him, but his response is cut off, their mouths colliding when Otabek leans in at the same time, mouth open to say something but finding himself silenced by the contact.

Awkward as it is, Yuri’s initial reaction to pull away is trumped by the sensation of the kiss himself. There is a hint of metal, likely from a cut during impact, but his focus shifts to the warmth of Otabek’s mouth. How it’s softer than he thought it would be even after ridding himself of the nervousness when he kissed him before, how Otabek tastes fruity, like strawberry or cherry or whatever flavor balm he’s probably reapplied while Yuri was in the bathroom. How he breathes through his nose when he kisses, eyes hooded instead of fully shut.

Then Otabek traces along Yuri’s jaw, familiar fingers gentle as they sweep to cradle his face. He gasps into the kiss, doesn’t realize until Otabek is pressed up against him that they’ve slowly inched closer, made the space between them nonexistent. His hand somehow manages to anchor at Otabek’s hip, fingertips dipping just beneath the cotton hem of his shirt. He should stop, he thinks. Should back off and think about what this could do to their friendship, but then Otabek moans into his mouth at the touch and Yuri feels a surge of something that warms him, that makes him a little smug that he’s able to affect Otabek this way. They kiss for a long while, sinking into the couch together, legs tangled and breaths heavy and searching and unexpected. Natural and familiar, but in completely uncharted territory.

When Yuri finds himself grinding Otabek through his jeans, Otabek lets loose a wanton groan, hips canting up to sync with the gesture. Yuri doesn’t think about what he’s doing, loses himself in just feeling it, soaking it in, punch drunk with everything and wondering if the buzzing in his head is a temporary consequence. He manages to pop the button on Otabek’s jeans, his hand delving beneath the elastic of his underwear and then suddenly, he finds himself pushed back. Otabek is breathing hard, pupils blown wide, his hand parked firmly against Yuri’s chest as he sucks in a breath and manages a shaky, “I- I think I better go.”

Yuri’s eyebrow twitches, his upper lip mimicking the involuntary gesture as he scoots back and glares at the floor. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“I’ll see you later?” With a sigh, Otabek pushes himself off the couch, nudges Yuri’s calf with the toe of his boot. “Yura. Look at me.”

Embarrassment colors Yuri’s response as he nods, too exhausted and confused about what had just happened, and reclines back into the cushions. He lifts an even gaze to meet Otabek’s, forces himself to shut down long enough to say, “sure. Whatever. See ya later.”

And with that, Otabek goes, door softly clicking shut behind him, leaving Yuri with a cold shower problem and a sinking feeling in his gut.

 

*****

 

Three hours and an exhaustive run later, Yuri finds himself back on the couch, game controller in hand acting as his next bright idea to forget probably the single most humiliating moment he’s ever experienced. Otabek’s abrupt departure continues to stump him, makes him question what happened, if it had been a good idea to test the line of friendship after all.

 _Test it_ , Yuri thinks with a scoff as he mashes the button on the controller as though the device had mortally offended him, _we practically obliterated the fucking line._

After the fourth attempt at taking down the level’s boss, he fails yet again and in his frustration, he hurls the controller across the room. It hits the wall with a telling crunch and the sound irritates Yuri even more.

“Fuck!” He sucks in a breath, closes his eyes and clenches his fists. Counts down from ten. It had been a technique Otabek had shown him to help better control his abrupt rages. The vein at his temple twitches at the thought of it. Then he exhales slowly, opens his eyes. “Great, now I can’t even play the stupid game,” he mutters, dipping his head back and sighing as he blows the loose strands of hair off his face. His arms feel leadened on either side of him. He stares up at the ceiling, contemplates his next move, and then he remembers something.

Quickly, he bolts from the couch in search of his phone. He finds it under Otabek’s jacket and the discovery sours his mood some more, makes him forget what it is he’s gotten off the couch for.

“His fucking loss,” he mutters, tossing the jacket in the corner where he wouldn’t be able to see it. Then he pulls up Otabek’s text window with the intention of thanking him for the favor and to forget the other stuff because it didn’t mean anything, when he stops. Halts with his fingers poised above the letters, unable to get out the very clear message his brain is wanting to send.

After a few seconds of staring at the blank text box, he gives up and swipes out of the window. Instead, he opens up Instagram, pulls up Otabek’s account and begins to scroll. It’s a wonder how many things have accumulated there despite Yuri having to strong-arm Otabek into creating it in the first place. The first couple of pictures are abstract, most in black and white, but some in colors so vibrant that Yuri finds himself staring without meaning to. His favorite is one of Otabek extending a hand to a man sitting outside of a restaurant, a thin blanket covering his hunched shoulders. His fingers are frail, brittle-looking, as if touching them would cause them to splinter despite the iron grip he exercises over whatever Otabek has given him. When Yuri had asked why Otabek posted a picture someone else had taken of him with a vagrant, Otabek’s response had surprised him.

_“His eyes were kind. I wanted to remember him.”_

He scrolls past a few more, pauses when he sees one of himself from his last visit to Almaty. He’d managed to sneak off before Yakov found him out; it had been his birthday, after all, and fuck if he was going to have his best friend miss it because of some sponsorship obligation. In the picture, Yuri’s eyes are closed, head slightly upturned and his lips quirked; a quiet smile. He doesn’t remember Otabek taking it, but remembers when it was posted and giving Otabek grief about sharing something that goes against how he wants to project himself, how he wants to be seen.

 _“It’s how I see you,”_ Otabek had said. Casual shrug included and that was the end of the conversation. Yuri hadn’t known what that meant; still doesn’t. But he remembers the flush he felt at the admission. Remembers how his own reaction had confused him.

He flushes now, aware of the warmth burning across his face before it engulfs everything else. Closing out the application, he pulls up Otabek’s chat window again and stares. Yuri has never second-guessed himself before, has never questioned Otabek or their friendship, but he also never expected to have Otabek kneeling before him, hand and mouth doing things to Yuri that have him reeling and feeling entirely out of his element. Absently, he palms the front of his sweats and with a groan, tosses his phone to the side and beelines for the bathroom.

_I just need a cold shower. Then all of this shit can go fuck itself._

Once in the shower, Yuri dips his head against the chilled tiles, hisses as the water hits him like a winter storm. It’s colder than he’s used to, makes him shiver until his body acclimates enough that he allows it to run through him, to erase everything he’s thinking, everything he’s feeling. Make him numb enough to forget Otabek’s face, Otabek’s expression as he took Yuri into his mouth and swallowed around him. The image immediately causes Yuri’s head to spin, breaths spluttered when he inhales water in his surprise. He bangs his head against the shower wall, curses mumbled while he tries again, shuts his eyes to shut out the world.

But it’s not nothing he sees, not the emptiness he craves, but Otabek’s face. Flushed and gasping as Yuri kisses him. As Yuri presses against him. With a painful swallow, Yuri’s hand dips lower, fingers caressing the cause for the ache he feels, the unexpected need that a cold shower couldn’t fix. Otabek’s face remains behind his closed lids, his voice in Yuri’s head clear enough that he might as well have stood next to him, murmuring encouragements in his ear.

Yuri’s fingers curl around himself, stroking slowly as he exhales. He tries not to think about how wrong it is, how he could probably never look at Otabek again knowing what he’s about to do. But the ache strengthens in his gut, his cock hardening with each tug, and soon instinct takes over, overpowers the guilt he feels. He runs the pad of his thumb over the slit before sliding down, grip tightening at the base and twisting slightly at the upstroke. He gasps with the sensation, knees shaky when he repeats the motion over again and again until he’s trembling. His forehead presses hard into the tiles enough to sting, lip tugged between his teeth as the pressure builds, coils tightly in his core; a mocking taunt.

He tries to think of something else, anything else while he continues to jerk himself.

 _Not Beka_ , he thinks desperately as his breaths quicken, labored and harsh, _not Beka._

But Otabek, it seems, is the only thing Yuri can think about. The only thing making the haze in his brain thicker, harder to wade through, and he comes with a strained moan that echoes around him. A reminder of how he messed up. Then he sinks to his knees, head bowed and eyes shut so tight it stings. He tastes salt on his lips, surrenders to them, and wonders how he managed to ruin one of the best things to come into his life.

 

*****

 

 **Sent To: beka**  
[text]: u left ur jacket here  
[text]: u can come get it whenever

 

The day after Otabek’s awkward departure, Yuri texts as soon as he wakes despite the throbbing headache, the sinking feeling dawning on him as he remembers what transpired in the time Otabek had been there. He hopes that the night passing is enough to at least simmer things down, chalk it up to a stupid thing they can laugh about when the sting of the blatant rejection isn’t still bitter in his mouth.

He’d had a dream the night before and though he doesn’t remember all the details, what he does remember leaves him feeling warm, content. A vague picture of Otabek fading into his subconscious like wisps of clouds floating above the horizon on St. Petersburg’s shores once the morning seeps into his consciousness completely and tugs the memory away. He tries to hold on to it, wants to believe it’s a sign that somehow everything isn’t as fucked up as he knows it is. He waits for a response, thumb impatiently tapping against the side of his phone. But after a few minutes of nothing, he figures Otabek is still asleep and sets the phone down before burrowing into the blanket to attempt to forget once again.

He tries not to think about the possibility that Otabek does not want to talk to him.

* * *

 

After three days and still no word, Yuri takes to what he knows best. He panics now, the start of the new year edging closer by mere hours and no resolution in sight. He pulls up Reddit, a site that serves as a hot pot of sorts for news and opinions and everything in between. He debates posting under his own name. It would garner more responses, he’s certain, but the repercussions in case anyone figures out who it is he’s talking about are far too severe that he decides not to chance it. He only needs a few responses, maybe one or two that could put things into perspective. That could make sense of Otabek’s behavior and perhaps can see what Yuri has done wrong to cause the unexplained departure.

The account he creates isn’t too far off from his original username, but with the lack of notoriety and knowledge about who’s behind it, Yuri figures he’ll be safe from anyone putting two and two together.

He takes a deep breath, fingers stretching and fanning out across the keyboard, before he begins to type.

_“My best friend came to visit during breaks from both our jobs and halfway into the visit, he ends up blowing me. There was some kissing after that and things started getting hot, but it ended awkwardly and he ended up going home. It’s still awkward and I don’t know what to do about it and we’ve never done anything like this before. Feeling a little confused and could use some help._

_I never thought about it, but then again I never think about shit like this in general. I didn’t know if he was into guys at all or if this is just some weird fluke, but I’ve been asking myself the same question. About myself, obviously. But I’ve never thought about gender stuff because I’ve been focused on other stuff like… work. Never been in an actual relationship except for some hookups that never panned out for I don’t what reason. Maybe because I don’t usually have time to get know them enough for it to pan out. Don’t care either, but now something’s happened with the one person I DO care about and I care about what happens to us and how everything’ll end up. But I don’t know what to do. I’ve never done this, told a bunch of people I don’t know about something personal, but I’m kind of at the end of my rope. We’ve been friends for a while, years, you know? I wish I knew what he was thinking because usually I can tell. But I don’t know if I just fucked up things with my closest friend, or if I’m just overreacting._

_After he left, I started thinking about stuff. About me, mostly. But about him, too. I realized he probably knew me better than anyone and that when all that stuff happened, I had gotten pretty into it mid-way. Maybe knowing him the way I did helped with that, but I kind of want to see where it goes. Something more than friends kind of a thing. Have you guys ever gotten into stuff like this? What did you do? How do I fix this? Because I want to fix it. I’ve never wanted to fix anything so bad in my life like I want to fix this.”_

Yuri stares at the post and chews his bottom lip while he determines the level of pathetic it is. He almost doesn’t post it, but one glance at his still silent phone and he decides it’s better than nothing. Better than having to deal with the multitude of questions in his head by himself with no one to confide in, no one to regurgitate all of whatever this is to.

Besides, no one would ever know it was him anyway.

He minimizes the window, stares at his phone some more, before he sends a few more texts. This time, no skirting around, no excusable reason to contact Otabek that can be taken as anything other than what he is trying to say.

 

 **Sent To: beka**  
[text]: i’m sorry  
[text]: can we talk?

 

Then he goes to take a shower because he can’t stand having to stare at his phone again with no promise of a response. Even his pride has its limits.

 

*****

 

His shower had been a welcomed reprieve. He did nothing this time, let the water tickle his skin, cascade over him while he pushed everything away. Forgets for a moment that he feels things he should not feel, that when he finally realizes what the missing link is, it is detrimental to something else that is equally important. Maybe more.

He glances at his phone before he beelines for this computer, curious about the post he’s made but also not wanting to see if Otabek has chosen to ignore his texts again. He navigates through the first few comments that are encouraging enough but provide no actual thought provoking content, remembers why he prefers Twitter instead, but then a response catches his eye.

_“Maybe you should talk to him. Maybe he feels the same way but is too afraid to tell you because it would change everything. And just as you don’t want to be the catalyst for change, perhaps it’s the same shoe on the other foot. Good luck.”_

There are a few others like it, detailing theories about why Otabek had left the way he did, offering condolences and other encouragement that he glosses over in favor of grabbing his phone. There’s a lone message, a grand total of one word, but Yuri thinks he’s never been so happy to see it.

 

 **Received From: beka**  
[text]: sure

 

Immediately, Yuri pulls up Otabek’s contact information and hits the call button. It is a few rings in that Otabek answers, his voice tired and worn and Yuri empathizes, feels the same exhaustion bone-deep as though he’s been carrying an invisible weight on shoulders poorly equipped for it.

“You sound like shit,” Yuri starts, relieved to hear Otabek chuckle on the other end.

“You want to be the pot or the kettle?”

“Can you blame me?” Yuri exhales slowly, his cheek resting on the desk. “Where are you? Can I meet you somewhere? I was going to ask you to come over, but I didn’t know if you’d want to and--”

“I’m outside your apartment.”

It takes a few seconds before Otabek’s statement registers and then a couple more before Yuri jumps ups, nearly taking out the desk leg in his scramble toward the door. He throws it open, and his heartbeat quickens at the sight of Otabek - hair a little disheveled and eyes filled with apprehension.

“Hey,” Yuri says, breathing out a sigh as he rests his head against the door frame. All it takes is Otabek giving him a look Yuri has seen reflected in the mirror more times than he’d care to remember before his expression crumples. “You left.”

It isn’t an accusation. There’s no anger in it, no blame, less scathing than it would have been had Yuri not been able to think things through. Come to a decision about what he wants to do.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Yuri bites his lip, toes the door open wider. “You wanna come in?”

Otabek nods and Yuri follows him back in.

“Can I get something to drink?”

“Right, sorry. I’ve got water, juice--”

“Vodka,” Otabek manages with a small smile.

“That was going to be my next offering.”

“I figured I’d hurry it along.”

Yuri returns the smile, glad for Otabek’s bluntness. He grabs two glasses and pours them both a generous amount and takes a gulp of his before he wanders back into the main room. Otabek is already seated on the couch, motorcycle helmet on the desk next to Yuri’s open laptop.

_Shit._

Yuri panics, stealthily closes the device, before he takes a seat on Otabek’s right and hands him the glass. He prays Otabek hadn’t been curious enough to look. Otabek downs half the glass before his gaze falls on Yuri again.

“I was scared,” Otabek begins the exact time Yuri blurts out the same thing.

It is Otabek who laughs first. “In the entire time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you scared of anything.”

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” Yuri says, bowing his head, cheeks warming.

“Would that have been so bad?”

“Fuck off with that. It’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.” Otabek takes another sip, grimaces before he speaks again. “Halfway through, I think I started questioning what I did. What I chose to do to you.”

“With me,” Yuri corrects. “I wasn’t forced. I made a decision, too.”

“Yes, but you were confused. I already knew what I was getting myself into. It was something I’d wanted for a while, but never let myself give into. You didn’t. It wasn’t fair. I wanted to be selfish for once, but I would rather have had you come to that decision on your own instead of as a result of what I talked you into doing.”

“And I thought I had an ego,” Yuri mutters.

“I want to salvage our friendship, fix it. Even if I have to stay away for a little while until things get back to normal.”

“We’re not broken!” Yuri grips his cup so hard his knuckles whiten from the strain. Otabek wants to walk away. And maybe Yuri should let him. He likely would have, had the movie they watched not reminded him of something.

Of how he would run after Otabek if he ever left. And now he is doing just that and Yuri has the power to stop him. To keep him from making a decision that would break what isn’t broken. To build up what Yuri has come to accept as a perfect imperfection.

“Yura,” and the way Otabek says his name stirs something in Yuri. An ache of sorts, as though he were something unattainable, a fingertips’ reach away but never close enough to reach it. “I don’t want to lose you. I shouldn’t have made a decision that would jeopardize that.”

“Have you not been listening?!” Yuri snaps, throwing his head back before he lurches forward and smacks his forehead against Otabek’s. “It’s not just your decisions that made us!”

Otabek flinches at the contact and touches his forehead to gauge the damage. “I never said it was. But I don’t want any of my small decisions to ruin the others, the ones I was glad I made. Like you, us, our friendship. You don’t see me the way I see you,” he says, a little sadly.

“Who the hell made you boss? Telling me how I feel, what I should do, all without talking to me about it. Asking me if that’s how it is.”

“Well isn’t it?”

“No!” Yuri clenches his fists so tightly that Otabek has to gently pry the vodka glass from his grasp. “It’s not how it is and you really are selfish if you make that fucking decision without talking to me first.”

“What difference would it make, Yura? What do you want to happen?”

“I’m not sure! I just--” His chest contracts, painful every time he takes a breath, every time he attempts to articulate what he feels. “You’re my person, my best friend. And maybe, I don’t know,” he says, pausing to gather his strength, “more than that?” Then he adds, “if that’s what you were trying to tell me before. I couldn’t be sure ‘cause you kept spouting off your bullshit about leaving instead of--”

Something warm cuts him off, effectively silences him as Otabek’s head angles just enough to properly kiss him. Yuri stills, his eyes wide open, sees the flutter of dark lashes as Otabek’s closes. He half expects a hand to push against his chest, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Otabek pulls away from him slowly, as though he were reveling in the intimacy of it, the taste of him. Yuri touches his mouth dumbly, lips still tingling from where Otabek’s had touched them.

“What are you saying?” Yuri asks, gaze narrowing and mildly petulant. A challenge for honesty. “Because as far as I’m concerned, you leaving isn’t even on the table. That’s not what you want. So what exactly do you want, Beka?”

Otabek doesn’t hesitate. “I want whatever you’re willing to give me,” he starts, then hastily adds, “even if it’s just friends.” He looks at Yuri with an inflection in his eyes, a flash of something meaningful that makes him seem more vulnerable, more open, just… _more_.

Yuri considers this, repeats the words in his head until it leaves an imprint on his tongue, sweet to the taste. He wets his lips and tilts his head, stops short of Otabek’s lips close enough to take in the breath Otabek exhales. “And if I wanted this?”

“There is nothing I wouldn’t give you.” Otabek doesn’t move, doesn’t take the bait and waits for Yuri to continue. His self control is remarkable, something Yuri has always envied. “As long as you’re sure that’s what you want.”

With a nervous swallow and the burn of the alcohol warming his belly, Yuri kisses him; slow and tender and dizzying. It’s a new feeling, one he’s imagined, that he’s tried to emulate with others who were temporary, who could never be what Otabek is. What he’s always been. A permanence Yuri needs.

His head hits the couch arm when Otabek leans into him and causes Yuri to recline. They kiss some more, steady and sweet, with Yuri’s fingers tangled in Otabek’s hair. He prefers this, he thinks, the quiet of it when they’re by themselves instead of the dark, pounding noise of the clubs that sprouted other encounters not as memorable. It gives him something to look forward to, to hold as though it were a tangible thing.

When Yuri pulls away, he opens his eyes and nudges Otabek’s nose with the tip of his own and grins. “We can take our time. As long as we get to do that.”

“Anything else? Is that what you want to do now?”

“Video games,” Yuri says, unable to help the flush of his cheeks at Otabek’s forward question. “We could try that now if you want. But you can’t let me win.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Otabek muses. “Besides, who says I’d let you win? There wouldn’t be any fun in that.”

Yuri lifts a brow, feels the swell against him that had not been there before. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

“Just that you make things hard,” comes the response, Otabek’s expression not giving anything away. “And there’s fun in a challenge.”

Yuri laughs, a little giddy with how well things have turned out considering the blast of anxiety he has dealt with the past three days. It makes him punch-drunk and then some, makes him bolder than he usually is with things outside of skating, and he pulls Otabek back in, a clash of lips and teeth less gentle than before but equally as satisfying.

He tries to test how far he’s willing to go, how much of this he wants to push. Otabek, on the contrary, doesn’t pressure, keeps the pace Yuri has set, but he doesn’t go further. Not even to toe the limits.

“You wanna play?” Yuri asks, stretching his neck with a trembling sigh as Otabek’s mouth starts at his jaw and descends until he’s brushing kisses along Yuri’s collarbone. He rolls his hips up, legs a tangled mess with Otabek’s.

“I could do with that,” Otabek says, biting back a groan when Yuri rubs against him again. “But I thought you meant play video games.”

Yuri licks the seam of Otabek’s lips and laughs. “I did.”

“We have got to work on our communication,” comes the response as Otabek kisses him, rolls his hips against Yuri’s hardening erection enough to make him grit his teeth and draw a breath.

“Shut up and lift my hips, Beka,” Yuri says, teasing and playful, but commanding all the same.

They end up on Yuri’s bed, the kisses only interrupted when Yuri nearly cracks his shin as he hits it against the edge of the bed.

“Why’d you run out of here that night?” Yuri asks before he can stop himself. He doesn’t know why he blurts it out, only that he’s looking to distract himself so as not to freak out that they are doing something he’s never done with anyone before, least of all the one person he couldn’t stand to lose should things not work out.

Otabek’s mouth is preoccupied when he hears the question, but he stops what he’s doing and bites his lip, pulls away enough to look at Yuri, to tuck the stray hairs behind his ear before he dips to kiss him again. He seems reluctant to answer, but does so anyway. “I didn’t know if you wanted it. I mean, really wanted it. Not just because your body was reacting, but because you felt as I did. And I would rather live with what I do know than ruin it with what I don’t.”

Yuri arches off the bed enough to tug his shirt off, Otabek’s black t-shirt following soon after. He works his way up Otabek’s neck, fingers working Otabek’s zipper open before he uses his foot to help ease them down. “And how do you feel?”

“In general?” Otabek asks, kicking his jeans off the edge of the bed and making quick work to get Yuri out of his bottoms. “Or about you?”

With a gasp at the loss of all his clothing, Yuri takes Otabek’s face between his hands, tells him “about me” between kisses and a breathless moan when Otabek rocks his hips, elevates the friction Yuri can feel entirely through the thin cotton between them.

Otabek grunts in surprise when Yuri flips their positions and has him laying on the bed instead. “I tried not to be too obvious with it, but well--”

Yuri only shakes his head, leans forward so that the strands come loose again. “I didn’t know!” he protests, “I just -- I never thought about it until I did and then it all made sense, you know? You made sense; more than you did before. At least to me. But I still don’t know what it is for you. Or how much. Or how long. I just--” He halts mid-way, realizes belatedly that his vision is impaired, hampered by a sting and the resulting wetness now trailing down his cheeks. “Is it so bad that I need to know?”

Otabek traces Yuri’s cheek and watches, almost reverently, when he leans into the touch. “It’s not bad,” he says after a moment. He eyes roam over Yuri’s face, fingertips following where his gaze had lingered only seconds before, and slowly, he tugs Yuri down so he’s bowed against him before he eases him down and curls around him.

Arms wind around Yuri’s torso, warm breaths softly caressing the bare skin of his back. The cessation of their heightening activity gives Yuri a cause for alarm. Maybe he’s done something wrong, touched a nerve he hadn’t meant to hit, said something that would make Otabek want to leave again.

He attempts to shove the thoughts away, focuses instead on Otabek’s quiet breathing. The light trace of fingertips over where his heart beats too fast, a consequence of his current predicament. Tentatively, he ventures, “Beka?”

“Hm?”

“We’re okay, right?”

“More than okay,” Otabek says, kisses between Yuri’s shoulder blades as a reassurance.

Yuri turns to face him, pleased when Otabek’s embrace remains, tightens a fraction. “So I guess we really are gonna play video games?”

“Guess so,” Otabek replies with a chuckle.

“Is this what happens when people take it slow?”

“The cuddling? One of the perks of it, yes.”

“Good,” Yuri says around a muffled yawn, eyes shuttering closed, “I see a lot of this in our future.”

“Do you now?” Otabek’s voice grows heavy, his breaths deepening. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“If you want it to be.”

“Of course I do.” Then Otabek links their fingers, mumbles against them, “for as long as I can remember.”

“Then I want it, too.”

“Yura.”

“Hm?”

Yuri feels lips against his forehead, the tip of his nose, before they brush against his mouth. He can’t help the smile that blooms when Otabek sleepily murmurs, “you’re my person, too,” as fireworks begin lighting up the world outside.

A new year, Yuri thinks.

And a new beginning.

 

*****

 

When morning breaks, Yuri is the first to rise. He turns his face in, his nose buried against the crook of Otabek’s neck. He breathes him in, savors the scent of citrus and something else that reminds Yuri of freshly done laundry. Otabek stirs, but does not wake, and Yuri remembers something that prompts him to slide out of Otabek’s embrace.

He pulls his track pants back on, sets his hair up in a loose bun, and opens his laptop. More responses have flooded the post he’s made and most of them carry the same message, the same advice to fix it in a way he already knew how to do but needed a nudge to accomplish.

And so he writes an update to his predicament, lengthy and a little more detailed than his normal sharing habits. But he wanted them to know. Wanted to reaffirm that they responded when he needed it and because of that, he found the push he’d been lacking to say what he wanted to say.

At the end of his long-winded update, he switches to his main account and links to the original post, writes beneath it:

_**tl;dr:** He came over last night and we talked it out. Decided we were going to try and see where it goes. Then after some more talking and a lot more making out, we decided to go for it. Thanks for encouraging it. Here’s to being fearless - a new year and a new beginning. -yp_

**Author's Note:**

> kudos/comments are always super appreciated ♥♥♥ and I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! :D
> 
> on tumblr [**@limitlessmonster**](http://limitlessmonster.tumblr.com)


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